


Step To The Edge

by jessebee



Category: Law & Order
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Execution, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pool & Billiards, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Aftershock" AU.  What if someone else had found Lennie in that bar, before he took that first drink?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step To The Edge

 

 

EADA Jack McCoy was very, very drunk – that was blindingly obvious. Long, sustained, all-day-but-still-walking-somehow drunk in that way that only alcoholics and the Irish seem to have the trick of. Detective Lennie Briscoe watched the lawyer move carefully off in the direction of the bar's front door and make it out without hitting any furniture or the door itself, and resisted the urge to salute. _We'd've been 'good companions,' back in the day._

 

"The hell with her. The hell with all of 'em," McCoy had said just moments ago, and suddenly, angrily, Lennie had agreed. The hell with everything. To hell with this lousy fucking day, the perfect cap-off to a lousy fucking year.

 

He'd spent it trying to do the right thing, and where had it gotten him? Here.

 

A trip to see old working buddies, old friends who should have understood. Bad move. Time spent in his old OTB hangout, looking for a little luck. Again, bad move. A meal with the daughter he loved but rarely saw, trying to make something of a connection. Very bad move.

 

All this, spawned from his early morning trip with McCoy, ADA Claire Kincaid, and his current partner Rey Curtis to witness New York State's execution of Mickey Scott.

 

This morning, he had watched a man die.

 

The fucking _grandmother_ of all bad moves.

 

He hadn't wanted to go, but still he hadn't expected it to hit him like it had. He'd been in no way ready for the sucker-punch of guilt, of horror; for the sick fascination that hadn't let him look away, even with that little voice of self-preservation screaming at him too late, too late, too late. "I'm better with them when they're already dead," he'd told his daughter Cathy earlier today.

 

He had watched a man die, and it was eating him alive.

 

It just wasn't working, trying to do the right thing. Had it ever? Just then, Lennie couldn't remember a single time it had. _No good deed goes unpunished,_ a voice snickered in his mind, sounding suspiciously like his former partner, Mike Logan.

 

 _Well, screw it. If I'm going to hell anyway, I might as well have some fucking_ _**padding** _ _so I can at least enjoy the trip._

 

The bartender brought his order. Vodka, straight up. Lennie stared at it, considering the cliff he was about to step off of, began to raise it –

 

– and strong fingers pinned his wrist and the glass to the bartop with a thump.

 

"That's not your usual, Lennie."

 

Alcohol sloshed cool over his skin as he looked up, startled, into the warm, gray-green eyes of the person he'd been most wanting to talk to. And whom, perversely, he hadn't called. "Used to be," he shot back, mouth running on automatic while his brain tried to catch up. He hadn't seen the man in months – what in the hell was **Mike** **Logan** doing here, now, in Manhattan, in this bar? "What the hell are you doing here?"

 

"Lookin' for you, actually. Saw the news." Mike shrugged, the casual move all at odds with the worry in his eyes. "Thought you might want to talk. Or…." He glanced toward the end of the room and back, and his look turned challenging. "Maybe you'd just rather try and beat me up at pool again."

 

" **Try?** " Lennie snorted, incredulity and sheer, weak-kneeded relief flooding through him. The utter familiarity of his old partner's smartmouthed brass closed around him like a warm coat, comforting on more levels than he wanted to think about. "The day I gotta put out actual effort to clean your clock is the day they bury me."

 

"Rack 'em up, then," Mike shot back, the evil half-smile Lennie had missed pulling at the corners of his generous mouth. Lennie started to slide off the barstool and stopped abruptly, realizing several things in that moment – he was still holding onto the glass, and Mike was still holding onto him. "Lennie?"

 

His shoulders stiffening, he met Mike's eyes again. And saw there concern and clean sympathy, none of the pity that would have put his back up immediately. If anyone would know him, could understand him in this, it would be Mike.

 

 But it was more than that. Mike's deep affection for him, his genuine liking of Lennie for exactly the man he was, no more, no less, washed over him and his soul soaked it up like water to a dry sponge. He'd barely admitted to himself how he'd been missing it until now. Lennie'd had a fair number of partners over his career, most of whom he'd learned to live with, some of whom he'd come to like, a few of whom he'd even called good friends. But it was only Mike – bright, intense Mike, so straight-arrow in some ways and such a rebel in others, with his anger and angst and smart mouth, his cynical outlook and skewed sense of humor so in tune with Lennie's own – whom he'd ever come to love.

 

Mike reached over with his free hand and deftly twitched the glass out of Lennie's fingers. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned over the bartop and emptied it into the sink below. Finally releasing Lennie's wrist, Mike fished a bill out of his pocket, laid it on the counter and set the glass, with great finality, on top of it. Then he leaned sideways against the polished wood and folded his arms. "Okay, **now** you can rack 'em up."

 

Lennie felt a smile split his face, fueled by happiness, irritation, anticipation and he wasn't sure what else. Things weren't better, not by a long shot, but they were finally starting to look up. "Hope you got paid, Mike, 'cause I'm seeing you buying me a very expensive dinner in my immediate future."

 

## ## ##

 

Lennie watched the bright pool table light pull deep brown out of Mike's dark hair as the younger man leaned in, concentrating on a last-ditch shot Lennie knew his old partner didn't have a prayer of making. If he was also watching Mike's ass under those just tight enough pants, well, what about it? Dreaming wasn't against the law.

 

Sometimes being a good detective was a real bitch – got so you couldn't help but read the subtle cues that revealed a person. He knew that Mike cared for, maybe even loved him, too.

 

It just wasn't the same type of love.

 

Lennie'd been clued in to Mike's relationships with his two previous partners before he'd transferred, heard about the close, almost father-son thing Mike had had with Max Greevey and had developed with Phil Cerreta. Both of whom had ranked Mike, as well as being older. Beneath his cynical surface, Mike's feelings ran deep and hard. If he decided someone was worth his respect, trust, affection, then they got it – and he'd stick by them until either the evidence piled up too high to ignore, or hell froze over, or both.

 

He was also the apparent poster child for rampant heterosexuality.

 

Not that Mike had a problem with people loving their own sex. His views on that had been made quite perfectly clear a few months into their partnership, during the Newhouse gay cop killing case – any two consenting adults in love was fine with him. But he showed no signs of swinging that way himself.

 

And so Lennie, who'd gotten himself in past trouble by falling for a person rather than a gender, had bottled up his feelings as they'd come bubbling to the surface. The emotions had been confusing and disconcerting but not unfamiliar; he'd done his best to keep them intellectual and not physical. And if he'd woken up in the dark now and again, spent and shaking, from increasingly vivid dreams of a strong body, dark hair and pale skin – well, that was between him and his bedroom walls. And maybe his laundry service.

 

Some two years later the issue had been touched on again in a way Lennie'd never dreamed of – as the result of a painful confession forced by the circumstances of a case of a pedophile priest. Mike's childhood parish priest. Mike had torn himself open and damn near committed perjury before it was all over, Lennie'd been considering murder and even their normally stoic friend ADA Claire Kincaid had been shaken, but with everyone's help Jack McCoy had been able to get enough evidence and leverage to put the bastard away for a while.

 

Not two months later Mike's smoldering anger had finally detonated onto the person of a bigoted city councilman, a reaction that Lennie admitted in hindsight he should have seen coming. The blow had derailed Mike's career and gotten him transferred to Staten Island, rudely shattering their partnership and Lennie's unadmitted dreams.

 

Now the reality was back in front of him, warm and breathing. Close enough to touch. In a deep blue shirt open at the throat and the black leather blazer that he'd rarely worn while they worked together, Mike was dark fantasy come to life. And tonight he was doing dangerous things to Lennie's already fractured equilibrium.

 

"Oh, nice, Mike. I can smell the steak from here," Lennie offered in a mock-helpful tone as Mike botched the shot, although not by as much as Lennie had expected. Either he'd been practicing or he was having a really good night, for Mike anyway. Which was more than Lennie could say about himself – his game was off and he knew it. The prickly, gnawing tension he'd been fighting since witnessing Scott's execution was still there, unabated, crawling under his skin. He couldn't shake the memory of the condemned criminal's face, of the monitor flatlining. The pool game now wasn't helping to blow off the pressure much more than the OTB or the meal with his daughter had earlier.

 

 _Or maybe,_ he thought sarcastically, _I'm just trading one kind of tension for another._ He'd played better than this while flat drunk, but Mike, blazer off and sleeves rolled up, was proving a far more potent distraction just now than alcohol ever had. Lennie was itching in spots that hadn't itched like this in almost a year.

 

Mike grimaced and stepped back, giving the table over with a ironic flourish. He hated to lose at anything, although he'd always been good-natured about it when they played. Never slowed down his wiseass remarks, though. "Keep laughing, Lennie, 'cause I'm closing on ya. You're not winning by near as much as you should be. Whatsamatter, I got you scared?"

 

 _Maybe, you smug Mick, but not the way you think._ Sometimes Mike's comments, frequently made without first benefit of thought, hit way too close to home. "Hey, it's just you and me here, so I took what I could get." Lennie lined up and shot. "It was either booze, sex, or pool," he half-snarled as the ball ricocheted and dropped. He moved, frustration powering his next shot. "And since the first two are out, I'm makin' do."

 

"Damn right that first one is, but you never even asked me about the second."

 

 _What the – ?!_ Lennie froze, his brain refusing for a moment to believe what he thought he'd just heard. A second later rational thought kicked back in. It was just another of Mike's comebacks – it had to be. That was all it _could_ be. But when he met his old partner's eyes, he was frozen again by a look he knew well, but not on Mike. The stunned, trapped, resigned expression of someone who'd just realized, too late, that they'd given themselves away.

 

It was Mike who looked away first, dropping his head into his left hand, his right white-knuckled around his pool cue. Silent. And it was the silence more than anything else that convinced Lennie that he truly _had_ heard what Mike quite obviously hadn't intended to tell him.

 

"Holy Mother of God…. " Mike's voice, when he finally spoke, was so quiet that Lennie almost didn't hear him. The younger man straightened up and carefully laid his cue on the now empty table. Avoided his ex-partner's eyes just as carefully. "Lennie, I didn't … ah, **shit**. I'm sorry. Look, just – gimme a second here, all right?" A sigh. "Tell you what." He laughed shortly, and it sounded painful. "I'm gonna – disappear for a few minutes," he jerked his head in the direction of the men's room, "and if you don't wanna be here when I come back, I'll understand, okay?"

 

Feeling like his eyes wouldn't blink and his feet were glued to the floor, Lennie watched Mike go, shoulders slumped like they'd only ever been on a few of the worst cases they'd handled as partners. He was almost to the bathroom door before Lennie's brain struggled back to life.

 

Mike wanted him. Somehow, someway, against all conceivable odds, Mike **wanted** him. And like a complete ass, Lennie was letting him walk away convinced of what was the complete opposite of the truth.

 

Lennie reached the door just as it was shutting. He shoved his way in and slammed it behind them, shot the bolt lock home before spinning to meet startled gray-green eyes.

 

"What – ?"

 

"Shut up, Mike," he growled, taking the step required to crowd the other man into the corner of the tiny, not exactly clean room, planting a hand on the wall on either side of that head of dark, glossy hair. "For once in your life, just shut up."

 

Mike drew breath to speak again anyway, his eyes narrowing, his expression saying all too clearly where he thought this was going. So Lennie leaned in and finally, _finally_ shut his ex-partner up in the way he'd been longing to do for three frustrating years. By kissing him full on the mouth.

 

Trapped between Lennie and the wall, Mike went utterly still – Lennie wasn't sure if the younger man was even breathing. What he did know was that the rush he was feeling was like nothing he could remember even with either of his wives; he was almost dizzy with the heat, the scent of the body whisper-close to his.

 

Mike's lips were full and soft, slightly parted. He didn't respond but he made no protest either as Lennie kissed him hard, then made himself gentle the pressure, remember who they were, where they were. He softened the kiss from claiming to seducing, enticing, running his tongue over plush surfaces and questing lightly after the warmth within, tasting a hint of the Coke Mike had been drinking.

 

There was a faint sound, finally, from the man he held caged to the wall. Lennie forced himself to give up those lips and pull back enough to see. Eyes closed, Mike's lashes were black arcs above his cheekbones, a faint flush coloring his normally pale skin. Then he licked at his bottom lip, slowly, with the very tip of his tongue, as if tasting after the mouth that had just been pressed to his.

 

It had to be one of the top five most erotic things Lennie had ever seen. Pure lust flared between his thighs, and his breath caught.

 

Mike's eyes snapped open.

 

Suddenly it was Lennie who was trapped, dragged in and locked flush, shoulder to hip, against his ex-partner. Strong arms came around his waist, his back, fingers slid up to dig into his shoulders, knot into his hair as Mike claimed his mouth.

 

Lennie leaned into the possession, letting Mike take his weight as his own knees threatened to give out. Mike's mouth was hot and sweet, his body hard and solid and shockingly male. He was giving no quarter and taking no prisoners, his tongue finding Lennie's and tangling, kissing like he was coming home after the war.

 

How long it went on, Lennie wasn't sure. But eventually basic biology interrupted and he broke away to gasp for air. He buried his face in Mike's neck and panted, drowning in the remnants of aftershave and the delicious skin-scent that was just plain Logan. The man smelled good enough to eat …. Lennie tongued lightly at the flesh just below Mike's ear. _Oh, yeah …._

 

Mike shivered. "Len."

 

The low, rough edge set off a few more mini-flares in Lennie's groin, and he had to clear his throat to answer. "Yeah."

 

"Tell me there's no camera in here."

 

Lennie snorted, quirked a grin. "Nah, owner's way too cheap."

 

"That's good."

 

No way to resist that line. "That's a shame, 'cause I'd pay good money for the tape."

 

Mike huffed, and then snickered. His hands slipped from Lennie's hair to rub slowly across his shoulders, stroke a hesitant, fiery trail down his back, settle at his waist. Lennie felt the heat of each individual finger. "Lennie." Mike's voice was still soft, but with an edge of wonder that twisted Lennie's heart. The million times he'd heard Mike say his name, it had never sounded quite like this. "God Almighty, Lennie, how long? Since when?"

 

"For you? Since forever, I think."

 

" **God**. I don't believe this. I mean, once or twice I thought, maybe – but you never – "

 

"'Cause I thought you'd made it pretty clear you didn't swing that way, and I wasn't gonna risk our friendship, that's more important than anything. And then after your friend Marino …. "

 

He felt the vibration as his ex-partner chuckled deep in his chest. That **not** being the reaction he'd expected, Lennie pushed back from Mike's too-tempting body just far enough to see him.

 

The greenish gaze was soft and warm and a little dazed, the half-smile a bit rueful. "This is me, Len – Krolinsky had nothing to do with it. Okay, yeah, twenty-five years I did my damndest to forget that bastard, but not because of this. That was assault, but I wasn't gonna let that or Church morals or anything else stop me experimenting or doing anything else I wanted to do." The smile turned sly. "Like having a hell of a lot of fun," Mike murmured, his hands beginning a slow caress at Lennie's waist. "I love sex. Women, men, it all works for me."

 

"Well, your cover's damn good," Lennie admitted, trying not to shiver at the sensations that simple touch was causing. "I never guessed."

 

"I couldn't let you. No one at work's ever known. I – wanted to tell you, and that's a first for me, but after Newhouse…. I'd lost two partners already and I'd've shot myself before I put you in the line of fire."

 

"Been taking care of myself for years, pal."

 

"'Don't ever ask me to be the first one through the door, the days when I took chances are history.'" Mike quoted one of their earliest conversations back at him. "Remember?"

 

"Well now, there's chances and then there's chances."

 

They both jumped at the rattle and lurch as someone tried the bathroom door. "In a minute," Lennie tossed over his shoulder, then looked back at Mike.

 

Arousal-darkened eyes met and searched his. "You still livin' where you were?" Mike asked quietly, still breathing fast.

 

Lennie's pulse jumped. "Yeah. You?"

 

"Yeah. Which I think makes your place closer."

 

His place. Mike wanted to go – to his place. God help him. "Mike – "

 

"We gotta talk, Lennie. At some point," Mike added, with a ghost of his normal evil grin. "And I don't wanna do any of it in public."

 

## ## ##

 

"Lennie?"

 

Lennie turned, startled, to see ADA Claire Kincaid making her way toward the pool table he and Mike had returned to not two minutes before. She was weekend-casual in jeans and a black biker jacket, her hair a dark cloud instead of its usual smooth cap. Her hesitant smile clearly said that he was not whom she had expected to see, and that she wondered what he was doing here, off-duty, in a bar. Then her gaze went past him and her smile widened abruptly. "Mike!"

 

"Hiya, Claire. Long time, no see." Mike's voice was friendly, but tinged with a weary edge that Lennie remembered, the one that said _Gee, thanks for the rotten timing, God._ As fond as Lennie was of the petite ADA, he agreed – his body was already protesting the inevitable delay.

 

"What're you doing in Manhattan?"

 

"I still _live_ here, Claire," Mike cracked. "But tonight I've been gettin' my ass beat by the 2-7's resident king shark."

 

"Proving that some people never learn," Claire shot back, and Lennie grinned, glancing over at Mike.

 

Mike grinned as well. "Question is, what are you doing in here?"

 

Her smile turned rueful. "Looking for Jack, actually."

 

Lennie blinked as those few words pierced and blew away the pleasant haze of lust his ex-partner had left him in. His stomach twisted, his tension and the reasons for it coming back with a sick rush. He looked at his watch, gave a half-cough. "Yeah, he was here, but he left over an hour ago. Said he was getting a cab and going home."

 

"I'll bet he said more than that." Claire sighed. "So. How far gone was he?"

 

"Well, he made it out without kissin' the floor."

 

"That bad, huh?"

 

Something in her voice set off a bell in Lennie's head. _Sounds like it got to her, too. Who knows, maybe even Rey's a little uncomfortable tonight._ He stepped closer. "How're you doing?" he asked quietly.

 

"I'm good, actually," she said after a moment, sounding almost surprised by her own answer. "I went for a run, saw an old friend. Stopped by the 2-7 – "

 

Lennie's eyebrows went up, begging the question.

  

"Looking for you. I thought we might talk."

 

He clapped a hand to his chest. "Be still, my heart."

 

Claire grinned and punched him gently on the arm, and Mike laughed. The deep, warm sound sent an unexpected ripple up Lennie's spine, catching him off-guard as it had sometimes when they'd been partners. Knowledge and anticipation made his reaction harder to mask this time, and he thought Claire paused a beat before going on.

 

"And I wound up having dinner with Anita, talked with her for quite a while. She helped … settle some things for me."

 

"Lieutenant's a smart woman. Probably smarter than the rest of us, deciding not to go."

 

"You could be right. Speaking of going, I'd probably better go make sure Jack made it home. Do either of you need a ride?"

 

"I was taking him home, actually," Mike said promptly, maybe a shade too promptly. Lennie nearly bit his lip at the phrasing.

 

Claire's eyes lingered on Mike for some moments before coming back to Lennie. Her gaze was thoughtful. "Well then, I guess I'll get going."

 

"We'll walk you out," Lennie suggested.

 

"An offer I can't refuse," Claire agreed, smiling.

 

They got out onto the street and headed toward what Lennie knew to be Mike's car. Claire stopped at a small blue one about a car length sooner. "Thanks, guys. Mike, it really is good to see you. Call sometime, I'd like to catch up."

 

"I'll do that," Mike said affectionately, and then looked a little surprised as Claire gave him a quick hug.

 

She stepped around her car and unlocked the door. The two men moved toward Mike's car.

 

"Lennie?"

 

Lennie turned to see Claire leaning out her driver's side window. He glanced at Mike, who motioned that he'd continue and get his own car unlocked and started. Lennie walked back to Claire, tilted his head in question.

 

"What about you? Are you all right?" The genuine concern in Claire's voice was warming.

 

"I'm fine, Claire, really. Thanks." Even as he said it, he knew that the ADA wasn't buying it. _She'd'a made a good detective,_ he thought absently, fondly.

 

"No, I don't think you are, really," she said with a half-smile, confirming his intuition. She glanced ahead at Mike's car, then back at him. "But I think you're going to be."

 

It stopped him cold. Adrenaline shock ran the length of his spine, and he knew his expression was less than serene.

 

"Be happy, Lennie," she said with a broad grin, patting the hand he'd laid on her car door. "I'll see you at work."

 

He stepped back automatically as she put the car in gear, watched her pull away, his mind turning somersaults. Had she really meant …? Maybe.

 

 _Damned if this isn't_ _**the** _ _day for shocks and surprises …._

 

"She knows, doesn't she?" Mike asked quietly as Lennie slid into the car.

 

"Yeah, I think so."

 

"What did she say?"

 

"Told me to go be happy," Lennie said bemusedly, still not quite believing it. He glanced over at Mike, expecting concern, and instead saw a rather speculative look on the handsome face.

 

"Hmm. I wonder if …. " Mike looked sideways at him with a teasing expression he remembered well.

 

"Strictly one-on-one, Mike; I don't do group sessions," Lennie mock-growled, relieved, punching his shoulder.

 

Mike laughed again, and every nerve in Lennie's body shivered to attention. "Damn. I was hopin'…."

 

"Drive, Logan."

 

## ## ##

 

By the time they approached his apartment building, though, Lennie's stomach was completely in knots, with apprehension, anxiety and despair the foremost cuprits doing the tying. The ugly memories of that morning had re-entrenched themselves, refusing to be dislodged. He was trying doggedly to replace the image of the doomed man's eyes with the more recent sight of gray-green ones hot with passion, but even with Mike in the driver's seat next to him, the passion seemed just another dream and Mickey Scott the awful, only reality.

 

 _This isn't real. Mike can't actually want me. I'm in a hole somewhere on a three-day bender and this is all a beautiful, fucked up delusion…._ He clenched his fist hard enough to drive his fingernails into his palm, blinked at the pain. No, he was still in the car, and Mike was still driving. _Okay, this much is real, anyway._

 

Mike found a spot on the street and parked, and they went up to Lennie's apartment in near silence. Lennie unlocked the door and Mike followed him in. When he turned back from shutting the door and setting both locks – _gee, guess you don't want him to leave_ – he saw Mike disappearing into his bedroom. Hope warring with something weirdly like panic, he followed.

 

Mike, his blazer already shed, met him in the middle of the small room, took his arms and kissed him thoroughly. The lust dampened by memories and anxiety roared up again under the taste of Mike's mouth, mixing with the desperate need to forget, if only for a little while.

 

Mike pulled back to look at him, clearly reading his tension. "What's wrong? You're not gonna leave me hangin' now, are you?"

 

As obviously affectionate as it was, the teasing hit a nerve. _As. If._ Lennie's spine stiffened. _Oh, you are_ _ **here**_ _for the night now, Mr. Done-Everyone-In-The-Five-Boroughs._ "Get out of those clothes," he growled. Mike gave him an evil smile and began to unbutton his shirt.

 

Turning, Lennie shrugged out of his suit jacket and pitched it in the direction of his bedroom chair, started on his own shirt, pants, stripping quickly. He could hear Mike doing the same and tried not to think about his own body, his appearance.

 

Finished, he took a breath, then turned back to meet Mike's eyes. Tried to keep his own gaze above shoulder level, with only partial success.

 

Lennie had no illusions about himself, hadn't in years – he wasn't handsome and he knew it. Mike, on the other hand, was still as fucking gorgeous as Lennie remembered from that time he'd caught his then-partner just emerging from the 2-7 locker room showers. _There is no way this man can want me._

 

But there was something distinctly like hunger in Mike's regard as he stepped close and reached out, laying his fingertips against Lennie's collarbone. Then he slowly caressed downward, brushing lightly. Lennie nearly bit his lip at the trail of fire sparked from just that gentle contact. "Mike."

 

Eyes that had been following the fingers' path rose to meet his.

 

"It's nice, but there's no need to seduce me. I know I'm nobody's dream – "

 

Mike's gaze sharpened. In the next moment he had both hands on Lennie's shoulders and shoved him down onto the unmade bed, followed him and pinned him flat. Lennie stared up, startled, into eyes that looked almost angry.

 

"Don't tell me what my dreams are," Mike growled, and kissed him hard.

 

Lennie's dreams had run the full spectrum from taking to being taken and every flavor in between. But none of them had even been in the same ballpark with the reality of Mike's bulk pressing him into the mattress, Mike's mouth hot against his jaw, his throat, the feel of all that warm skin sliding against his own.

 

"Let me have you, God, please," Mike breathed urgently in his ear, and the hiss of warm air made Lennie shudder.

 

"Long as you know that turnabout's fair play," he managed.

 

Mike pulled back just far enough to see him, gave him a smile that managed to be happy and seductive and wicked all at once. "Believe me, I'm counting on it. But right now," he murmured, tonguing the edge of Lennie's ear and making him shudder again, "lie back and let me do unto you."

 

Just as in those vivid dreams he'd woken from in the dark, it was his bedroom, his four walls. But this time the bedside light was still on and the fantasy was achingly real.

 

Lennie dug his head back into the pillow, tunneling his fingers through Mike's thick hair as the younger man licked at his nipple, worrying it with consummate skill. Never mind the damned ballpark – this wasn't even the same city, and they were only just getting started. He'd read somewhere years ago that nipples were wired the same no matter if they were male or female, and Mike was about to make him believe it. The sensations rolled over him in waves, radiating out from that clever mouth, more intense than any other of his lovers had ever managed. Intense enough that he nearly missed the broad hand slipping down his side until strong fingers molded around the inside of his thigh and stopped just a fingerlength from home plate.

 

"Yes," he groaned, squirming, barely realizing he'd spoken until he was answered.

 

"Patience," Mike said in that voice like fur, dark and deep. "Ain't that what you're always telling me?"

 

"I'm telling you ya don't need to seduce me," Lennie panted, aggravation fighting with rational thought. He needed –

 

"Oh, but I want to," Mike chuckled, starting to nuzzle a path downward, but slowly. Much too slowly.

 

Aggravation won. "Dammit, Mike!" Lennie used the hand still buried in Mike's hair to drag the other man's head up. "I don't **want** you to seduce me – I **need** you to make me forget!"

 

Mike stilled, his eyes widening. Something flashed across his face and vanished too fast for Lennie to read it. “I can do that,” he said after a moment, with a little smile, but there was a sad sort of edge to it, and a bit of the joyful lechery of a moment ago was gone from his voice.

 

Lennie groaned again as he realized what he’d just done. “Mike, no, it’s not like that. **I** tackled **you** in the bathroom, remember?” He framed Mike’s face with both hands. “If all I was after was a one-off, I’da found it before you showed up. It’s **you** I want," he said, low and intense. “But I need to forget – what I saw today.”

 

Mike searched his face for the truth with all the skill learned in years on the force; then the happy, wicked smile reappeared. “Like I said, I can do that.”

 

 

When he was able to think about it later, Lennie figured that it probably hadn’t taken Mike more than about three minutes to make him so hot that he didn’t know which way was up. Mike kissed him deeply, made a thorough investigation with lips and tongue while the fingers on his thigh squeezed, caressed and finally moved upward.

 

Lennie cried out, the sound lost in Mike's mouth as the younger man's callused hand covered him and pressed down. The pressure was exquisite, just enough, the way only another man would know; that it was **Mike** made it that much better. He pushed up, shuddering, felt himself harden further as Mike began to discover him, measuring his length, weighing his balls. Sweat broke out the length of his body and he grabbed at Mike's shoulder, digging his fingers into corded muscle beneath pale skin.

 

Mike let him breathe, finally, moving down to chew on his neck, his shoulders, bite at his collarbone. Lennie twisted under the onslaught, fire chasing down his nerves. All the while the hand at his groin was playing, teasing and exploring but never with enough of a rhythm to give him much relief.

 

He was getting his wish; his brain was rapidly draining of any thoughts not relating to the feel of Mike's hands on his body, and even those were threatening to go and leave him with nothing but pure sensation.

 

The maddening hand on his sex got faster, the other movements of Mike's body against Lennie's more urgent, as if the younger man's control was starting to fray. "Harder," Lennie hissed, bucking, desperate for more. He didn't realize that he'd reached down until abruptly the pressure on his crotch vanished completely. His eyes snapped open as Mike's fingers closed around his wrist.

 

"No backseat driving," Mike growled, pinning Lennie's hand to the mattress.

 

Lennie nearly howled with frustration. "God _dammit_ , Mike – !"

 

Mike reared up over him, his eyes fierce and almost black, his own restraint obviously fading fast. "You want harder? I'll give you _harder_ – "

 

He ducked suddenly and sank teeth into one nipple, pinching the other, and Lennie nearly jerked off the bed as electricity ripped through him. He was dimly aware of Mike shifting, reaching for something, but couldn't muster the brain cells at that moment to wonder what or why. The question was answered a minute later anyway as cool-ish slick pressure occurred around his erection. How in the hell had Mike known what he kept in his nightstand?

 

What the hell did it matter? He knew.

 

Lennie groaned and arched eagerly, only to have the contact stop. But a moment later it was replaced with the solid weight of his ex-partner's lower body as Mike shoved his legs apart and settled between them. Lennie nearly sobbed in relief as the fiery heat of Mike's erection pressed hard against his own. Mike leaned in and took his mouth again, kissing him ferociously, and started to move.

 

This, at last, was what he needed. Weight, pressure, the sweet friction of Mike riding rough and tight against him. The taste of Mike's tongue. The smell of Mike's skin, unique beneath the remnants of bar smoke and aftershave, driving home that this was undeniably, against all odds, _real_.

 

Lennie locked one arm around Mike's waist and the other around his back and thrust up, rocking, matching the other man's rhythm. The pleasure was devastating, a dark, ravaging fire between them and Lennie fell into it, surrendered to the conflagration consuming him, remaking him from the inside out. It was perfect, _perfect_ and he wanted it never to end, wanted to suspend the two of them here somehow in this time, this place, this bed. But it couldn't last – nothing this good ever did. Black flame coiled through him ever stronger, gathering steadily into a tight, hissing ball in his center – tight, tighter, tighter still until finally flesh could take no more.

 

The ball exploded violently outward, hammering Lennie with the hardest orgasm he'd had in years. He curled forward against Mike's bulk as his body seized, locking up in spasm so strong it was nearly pain. Then convulsed helplessly as bliss roared in, long blinding eternal seconds where there was no "here" and he was nothing but ecstasy and white light and the thundering in his ears.

 

He slumped back against the mattress finally, gasping, as the light began to fade and he could pry his eyes open, see the face of the man responsible for it all. Mike was still with him, still on top of him, still moving, his eyes locked on Lennie's face.

 

"Fuck," he swore, the speed and force of his thrusts increasing, prolonging Lennie's own shudders of pleasure, "your face – you don't know – God – Len – _**yes**_!"

 

Lennie watched in dazed wonder as Mike threw his head back and froze, his face contorted in a grimace of passion that Lennie had never quite dared to dream. Mouth open, eyes closed, Mike was clearly somewhere where nothing else had ever felt quite that good. He was gorgeous.

 

He hung there for an endless moment. Then he slumped, collapsing in slow motion, hips twitching in aftershock, finally sinking down with a soft groan full length atop Lennie.

 

Lennie got his arms to work again after a minute or three, found the energy to began a slow caress up and down Mike's sweat-slick back. It was yet another minute or two before he could speak. "Wow."

 

There was an exhausted sounding snort from the vicinity of his shoulder. "Hmm. Diditwork?"

 

"Did what work?" Lennie couldn't quite make the connection.

 

"Makin' you forget?"

 

Oh yeah, that. "What's your name again?"

 

He felt as much as heard Mike's breathless laugh. "'ll take that as a yes."

 

They simply lay there for a time, breathing. Eventually Lennie shifted, stretched, luxuriating in the feel of weight and strength that was a match for his own. He was sticky and sweaty and exhausted and it felt so incredibly damn good, his earlier gnawing tension finally broken, thanks to the man sprawled all over him. Would the memories bother him in the future? Sure. But he could handle them now.

 

Mike stirred, began to slip to one side. Lennie tightened an arm around his ribs. "Don't."

 

"'m heavy."

 

"I won't break."

 

"Mmm, that I know." Mike sounded sleepy and extremely pleased. "Jus' lemme … there." He settled half on, half off – his head on Lennie's shoulder, his left hand tangled with Lennie's right, one leg between Lennie's.

 

Lennie shifted his leg out to the side and then back in, began to rub his foot lazily against Mike's calf. He'd always loved these afterglow moments, almost as much as the sex itself – all parties satisfied and happy, no thinking going on, nobody asking questions yet ….

 

Trouble was, the moments always ended.

 

"So," he said after a long, indolent while, not wanting to ask the question but needing to know, to prepare himself. "'Least you're not jumping up, running screaming into the night." He felt tension creep into Mike's body, and mourned the loss of the easy peace.

 

"Len, this feels like the first thing I've done right since I punched Crossly." Mike didn't sound sleepy anymore. "I'm not leaving, unless …. "

 

"I'm not asking you to leave."

 

"But I think you're asking me how long I'm gonna stay."

 

Lennie sighed, took refuge, as he always did, in smartass. "That's the trouble with sleeping with a cop, can't hide anything from 'em."

 

Mike was still a moment, then propped himself up on one elbow. His dark hair was a spiky mess that Lennie wanted to smooth, and his eyes were very green in the low light. "Remember that case we caught with the Russian bride who had her lover off her husband? The husband found her through the mail, went over there, married her, didn't know her from Eve? Remember what I said then about dating, getting to know somebody at least for God's sakes before you sleep with them?"

 

He heaved a sigh. "I've been around, that's no secret. And I have fun. But it's never casual, not that way. I don't bring home, or go home with – " he grinned, made a show of looking around Lennie's bedroom, " – people I don't care about."

 

Sobering, Mike shifted his gaze to study their joined hands. His expression was one Lennie had come to recognize as nervous. "Those years I was experimenting?" he said with a half-smile. "I learned something scary, something I didn't really want to know. Then."

 

Mike untangled their fingers to lift his hand, run a gentle knuckle over Lennie's cheekbone. "Like I said, I love sex. And I love women. Probably always will." The half-smile faded then, and was replaced by something different, something boldly, nakedly honest. "But the only times, twice to be exact, that I've fallen in love, it's been with a man."

 

Lennie stared. Mike wasn't saying – he couldn't **possibly** be saying – "You are not telling me this."

 

"The hell I'm not. I think the worst part of this whole last fucking year has been not seeing you, hardly ever talking to you."

 

Now the afterglow was truly shot. Lennie's eyes narrowed as sudden, sharp anger welled up. It wasn't rational. He didn't care. _All this time, we coulda been – you son of a_ _ **bitch**_ _._ "All ten of your fingers got broke?" he growled. "My number hasn't changed."

 

"And put you through what a miserable bastard my temper's made me?" Now Mike sounded angry, and hurt. "Lennie, other stuff got broke in my apartment the first coupla months, I didn't want you seein' me like that!"

 

"Three years with you, you think I can't handle your temper?!"

 

Mike pulled away abruptly, rolled over to sit upright. "I know you can," he said hoarsely, after a minute. "But I screwed up any right I had to ask you to."

 

Lennie stared at the younger man's back, then sat up slowly himself, his anger draining away as fast as it had come. He shook his head with a snort – at himself, at Mike, at everything. Lady Luck could be such a fickle bitch.

 

 He slipped his arm around the broad shoulders. Mike twitched, but didn't shrug him off. He leaned in close, brushed his lips against the silk of Mike's hair. "It's only too late when you're dead, Mike," he said softly into the tousled strands. "Everything else's negotiable."

 

"That mean we can negotiate?" Mike's voice was low, a little thick.

 

Lennie put both hands on his ex-partner's, now lover's – _lover's! –_ shoulders and pushed him back against the mattress, followed him down. Mike looked up at him, startled. Lennie brushed a heavy lock of hair off Mike's forehead, let himself fall into the shadowed, hopeful eyes. For all the truckload of brand-new complications it was going to cause him, doing the right thing this time was as simple as breathing. "I think it'll be an easy deal."

 

End

**Author's Note:**

> Step To The Edge  
> 7/4/05  
> jesse  
> first posting 5/5/15
> 
>  
> 
> (For the uninitiated: at the end of Law&Order's 5th season, Detective Mike Logan punched out a bigoted city councilman and was exiled to Staten Island for "two and a half to five," as EADA Jack McCoy phrased it to ADA Claire Kincaid. He was replaced in season 6 by Detective Rey Curtis as Detective Lennie Briscoe's new partner. At the end of season 6, Claire was killed by a drunk driver as she was driving an off-the-wagon Lennie home. There has probably been more fic written off that episode, "Aftershock," than any other in L&O fandom. This writer confesses to giving in to temptation. So -- my little "Aftershock" AU, just for fun. What if someone else had found Lennie in that bar, before he took that first drink?)
> 
>  
> 
> So I walk up on high  
> And I step to the edge  
> To see my world below.  
> And I laugh at myself  
> As the tears roll down.  
> 'Cause it's the world I know.  
> "The World I Know" -- Collective Soul


End file.
